Chapter 2
Millie
Cyrus Kane is nothing like the stories I’ve been told growing up.
Dad showed me pictures of when he was my age, the two men grinning in front of the lens.
Described them as troublemakers, constantly getting into tussles with whoever had a problem with them.
With how often I’ve seen them grinning, I could only assume they were more victorious than not.
The man, filling his large tumbler with plain black coffee, scowl permanently stitched to his face, is not the same person grinning next to my father.
I refuse to believe it. This guy glares at everything like he has a vendetta against the world.
He’s grunted most of the time, making me believe he doesn’t even know how to act normally in front of another human being.
He’s amazing, easily taking the entire pot of coffee for himself. Once he’s setting the glass back into place, he pauses long enough to glance over at me, finally acknowledging my presence this early in the day.
Those gray eyes of his can see through anything with how sharp they are. His eyes don’t linger, not like they had the first time he’d looked at me. Those bushy brows furrow deep. “You drink coffee?”
At least he’s polite enough to remember that other people may want a boost to start their day this early.
“I prefer energy drinks.” Being honest, he gives another noncommittal grunt as he twists on the cap to his tumbler. No sugar, no cream. What a strange man.
While he prepares the start of his day, I pause long enough to drink in his appearance while he isn’t looking. With how much he’s trying to ignore my existence, it’s easy to do.
Taking in the broad plains of his back, I’m amazed by how much space he soaks up without trying.
It’s a wall of shifting muscle beneath a worn gray cotton shirt, the seams pulling taut across his shoulders and tugging with every reach, every slight twist of motion.
At each bend, I can see the arch of his spine, his body promising a strength I’ve never witnessed before.
My gaze drifts down, following the curve of his back to where it disappears into the waistband of his jeans. They’re old, soft-looking, the pockets frayed at the corners where threads have given up, leaving small, vulnerable holes in the faded denim.
At least my grumpy new roommate has a nice butt.
Beneath the table, his dog, Meatball, watches us with her big blue eyes and thumping tail, waiting to be released outside. I have to fight the urge to get down on the floor with her and give her another round of belly rubs. Cyrus says it’ll spoil her, but I’m not strong enough to hold back.
I’ve always had a love for animals. It’s why I’m struggling to figure out what I want to do in life.
Taking care of them sounds like the obvious answer, but at the same time, what if it’s not getting into medicine that I’m after?
Sure, I could volunteer at an animal shelter or learn to groom, but those routes could disappoint Dad.
He missed his chance to go to college because of me. Raising me up on his own, he wants me to have the opportunities he missed out on. Wanting to make him proud, coming here was just part of the plan.
The reminder spoils my enjoyable view, and I turn away, searching for something to eat before I go out and exhaust myself.
“Every morning, we start the day at five to avoid most of the heat. Rain or shine, got it?”
“Does it count as shine if the sun isn’t even up?” The question is innocent, but the weighted look he gives me in return makes my stomach clench, and a shiver rolls up my spine. “Stupid question, got it.”
Yesterday, he’d told me to help myself when it comes to food.
Living out here on his own, he doesn’t have set meal times, and he’s cradling that tumbler like it’s his next two meals.
Well, I need something solid to survive.
While I help myself to his toaster, he’s leaving me behind to shove his feet into boots.
“You brought appropriate footwear?” Not looking at me, he works on double-knotting his laces. The few brown strands that aren’t tied back in a small pigtail hang in front of his forehead. Is it weird that I want to go over to him and push them back? Yeah, definitely weird.
Stopping myself from cracking a joke about wearing sandals, I remind myself that this guy is missing his funny bone. “I did my research. I’m ready for whatever you throw my way.”
He wants to be super serious? Well, I can be the same way without being mean about it. Without the grunts, too. I’ll smile until my jaw aches.
One jerky nod is the best I get before he’s leaving me behind to get started.
While I wait for the bread to toast, I make a note to wake up a little earlier tomorrow, so I’m ready to slip out when he is. Looking around, my eyes stop next to me.
On the fridge, there are a few papers hung up with the kind of magnets I’d find in a phone book. Even if it means being a little nosy, with how much time I’ll be spending here, there’s no way I can avoid them for my entire stay.
They’re all invoices needing to be paid. Some of them have notes written on them, most likely Cyrus’ handwriting.
Dad told me the truth, even if Cyrus would rather choke on the words.
His ranch needs a little help. If he’s behind on a few bills, it’s no wonder why he can’t hire help himself.
Now that I’ve met the guy, I have a hard time believing he’d want the help to begin with.
It’s a miracle he accepted whatever Dad asked of him.
Just having me around makes me feel like I’m nothing but a bother. He’s got a talent for scaring people away.
I’m only here to figure out what path to take for my future.
Sticking around for an entire season sounds like overkill, but Dad says it’ll be good for me.
I’m starting to wonder if he had Cyrus more in mind when he made the suggestion in the first place.
This way, it’s more like a two birds with one stone kind of situation.
Deep down, I don’t mind being helpful. Even if this is like free labor, and he could be taking a little advantage of the situation, I’m happy to do whatever it takes to lighten the load a little. I just hope Cyrus can show a little appreciation and act a little nicer while we’re staying together.
Summer is a long time, especially when I showed up a little earlier than expected.
With the toaster popping off, I tear my eyes away and help myself to his fridge to see what kind of butter or jam he’s got.
* * *
“You sell these?” Shoving my hand beneath an upset hen to get her off her eggs, I wince as I’m pecked a few times before feathers go flying as the hen stubbornly leaves. “Or do you eat them all? There’s a lot to go around.”
Against the wall, Cyrus watches me. Rather than make sure I’m doing things right, it feels like he’s burrowed a hole straight through me, seeing my insides and all. I have to throw a look over my shoulder to get a response out of him.
He tears his eyes away, looking over at the ten other nests I need to check out. “I try to. Some days are better than others. Doesn’t help that those Blackthorne brothers have their own ranch practically next door.”
I remember passing it on the way here. I also remember how unwelcoming it felt just driving past it. If I needed eggs, I don’t think I’d end up at a place like that, just saying.
“You don’t have any signs.” Cradling a new egg, I try to remember what I did see in my approach here yesterday. Now that I think about it, Cyrus’ ranch isn’t very welcoming, either. Especially when it’s owned by a scowling cowboy.
“I’ve got regulars. They know where to find me.”
A scowling, stubborn cowboy.
“What if those regulars find someone else? Don’t you want fresh customers? Plus, with the cost of eggs in the grocery store—”
“Are you going for a business degree if the animal care doesn’t work out?” Clearly offended by my advice, he snatches an empty carton and starts collecting eggs as well to make this go faster. The sooner he runs out of things to give me to do, the sooner he can send me on my way.
Well, I don’t have any intention of going anywhere. He may as well get used to me. While he’s at it, he can learn to dull out those sharp edges of his.
Biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from arguing with him, I have to remind myself that I’ve barely even gotten comfortable yet.
Maybe I should let at least a week or two pass by before I start criticizing the way he runs things around here.
No one likes an outsider giving input so quickly.
Even though I know he hasn’t accepted as much help as I’m willing to give, I can sit back and take notes until that time finally comes. Once he’s lowered his guard enough to let me in, maybe I can do something more than collect eggs. I can help pull him out of this hole he seems to be in.
“Sorry.” Letting the apology out, I watch as the tension in his shoulders slackens just enough to make a difference.
“If any go to waste, I’m happy to admit that I am a fan of eggs.
Used to eat them every morning when I was younger.
” Getting pecked again by the next hen, I keep the conversation flowing. “Ever pickle them?”
He pauses and looks my way. Pinning me with that heavy gaze of his, he squints like he’s looking at something complicated.
I don’t miss the way his nostrils flare, probably from frustration since I’m trying to force him to socialize.
Then he looks away, continuing to collect, but slower this time. “Had them every way you can think of.”
Finishing off a carton, I swap it out for another empty one, trying not to brush against him in passing, but failing. “Now, if I didn’t know any better, that sounds like a challenge.”
At the sound of a dry laugh, I pocket it as a small win. A new noise to add to my collection of Cyrus noises, I get the urge to try and see what else I can draw out of him.
Only time will tell, and we’ve got plenty of it to explore.